


Golden Girl

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-04
Updated: 2006-03-03
Packaged: 2018-08-15 23:17:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8076742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: A precious treasure comes into the life of Commander Charles Tucker III when he rescues the survivor of a crippled space vessel. Tucker/f. (07/28/2004)





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Perspective: All the stories in this series take place in the later first/early second season.  


* * *

Captain Jonathan Archer was just about to turn the Bridge over to his Science Officer so that he might get some lunch when his attention was called by that worthy. "Captain, sensors are detecting a ship bearing 328 mark 44, two hundred thousand kilometers."

"On screen." In response, the forward view shifted to one somewhat to port and almost halfway up to the zenith. The ship was unfamiliar, composed mostly of flat surfaces and odd angles. It was slowly rolling downside up, and did not seem to be under any power, a supposition confirmed a few moments later by T'Pol's report.

"I'm detecting minimal power and life support. I read only one life sign aboard, but I cannot identify the species. There is considerable damage to the hull." That much was obvious. There were gaping holes blown into the ship, the edges of which were charred, having been melted and flash frozen in the icy cold of space.

"Get us close, Travis." Archer ordered.

"Aye sir." As the Enterprise turned upward and to port, T'Pol regarded the Captain with barely concealed chagrin

"I take it you intend to board that vessel, to attempt to render aid?"

"You take it correctly." Jonathan Archer was not entirely sure he was glad that she knew him as well as she did. She knew what he was thinking, and his position on such situations. He would render whatever aid was possible, as he had done so several times in the past, and he was pretty certain he knew her position as well. He had neither the desire nor the need to ask. "What do you have on that design?"

"I do not recognize it."

"Not 'classified'?" He asked with a mild tone. He'd encountered enough Vulcan 'classified' materials in the past, and usually they involved the withholdings of just the information he needed to keep from getting deep into some sort of mess.

"No sir." Well, things were looking up. T'Pol was telling him she knew nothing about something she knew nothing about. It boded well for the rest of their mission.

* * *

It had taken only seconds for the huge starship to draw close to the smaller vessel, and as Archer regarded the ship he could see that docking with it was going to be no small difficulty. The ship was tumbling over backwards, the stern coming up and over at a rate of better than one and a half rotations per minute, while at the same time rotating along its long axis counter-clockwise at about 2 rotations per minute, perhaps a bit more. Depending on where the access port was, and he had not seen it yet, it was going to tax his pilot's skill to synchronize with the vessel. He did not dare order grapples to steady the ship, as it looked like it was holding together primarily through prayer.

"Where is the life sign coming from?"

"Roughly forward of center, which means that it is not being subjected to the degrees of centripetal force that apply along the ends of the ship. Fortunately, much of the ship is still structurally stable and retaining atmosphere, so if there is a working port an away team should be able to reach the source."

"Travis, do you think you'll be able to dock a pod with that?" The dark man regarded him with a confident smile.

"Yes sir. No trouble at all." Archer regarded his helmsman with a jaundiced expression, trying to decide if the man was putting on a deceptive display or was supremely confident in his piloting skills. Since he had chosen the best people possible for his crew, it most likely was the latter.

"All right. You, Malcolm, Phlox and Trip get aboard that ship. Render whatever aid you can."

"Aye sir." Malcolm, at the tactical station, made to leave as well. Hoshi, without needing to be told, relayed the order to the Doctor and the Chief Engineer, who would meet them at the Launch bay.

Chapter One

Survivor

As Travis Mayweather piloted Shuttle Pod One toward the alien ship, he reflected on the Captain's question. 'Do you think you'll be able to dock?' 'Yes, sir. No problem at all.' Of course, he was not going to point out that the docking port he'd located was in perhaps the worst possible location, more than halfway forward of center and on top, so that he would have the ship approaching the upper hull at all times, as well as spinning around its own axis. He would have to approach the ship while backing away from it, and spin to chase it around sideways as well.

It was a common misconception among laymen that ships in space maintained the same orientation, on the same level. Space having no up or down, any ships they encountered would have any conceivable orientation, though usually this was 'upright' to whatever planet they had most recently visited. This one, conversely, seemed to have every orientation.

The experienced helmsman, encountering a ship up or down from them, upright or upside-down or any combination of orientations, usually made such adjustments as a matter of course. As a result, he always approached a ship so that his mates would perceive it as being upright. It was second-nature adjustment.

This one would be a challenge which, if he did not do it right, his friends would see the ship toppling over onto them. But he felt certain he was up to the challenge. He would not tell them that, however, because he did not know how to do it without sounding smug.

It was primarily a matter of trainingâ€”a pilot did not make the grade without being able to handle the unusualâ€”but only the really good ones could make it look easy. And having been born in space, living almost all of his life aboard one ship or another, with occasional visits to planets, did not hurt at all.

Thus, in what he considered a reasonable amount of time, he had synchronized with the port and maneuvered so that the ship, which was constantly 'falling towards them', would be linked with the docking hatch in their own ceiling even as they both rolled to the left at more than twice per minute.

He considered it a matter of pride that his companions had such faith in him that they did not interrupt their own conversation until he reported that the docking was complete. "Good job, Travis." Tucker complimented in a tone that clearly said he would have been surprised at any less.

Phlox, Tucker and Reed were outfitted in EVA suits, having little trust in the integrity of such a shot-up ship. Their orders were clear: get in, find and bring out the survivor. Period.

* * *

Phlox carried a portable stretcher set with telescoping poles, which was fitted with a secure net suitable when expanded, for zero gravity immobilization and transport. Tucker would deal with any portals or other obstructions, while Reed would keep his eyes and sensors open for any internal defenses which might mistake rescuers for attackers and respond with extreme prejudice.

They climbed the ladder, opening the airlock port into darkness. The spotlights on their helmets revealed cramped chambers, but little more of note. They followed Phlox, whose portable sensor led him unerringly to the source of the life signs. "Feel that?" Reed asked, referring to the spinning sensation that threatened his lunch.

"Whatever inertial dampeners they use must not be working well." Tucker confirmed.

"As we go further, the effects will be quite marked. I should think that our survivor may well be experiencing forces of almost two gravities."

"What if we had Travis level us off?"

"No way to tell."

Obviously it was 'command decision' time, just the type of such that he hated. Does 'improving' things help or make an unknown bad situation worse? It would help if he had some clue as to what the survivor was experiencing. But he did know that moving an injured person under extreme conditions was not good. "Tucker to Mayweather."

"Go ahead, Commander."

"Inertial dampeners seem to be shot. Can you use the pod's thrusters to steady us?"

"No problem."

"Travis, do it very, very gradually. We don't want to come aboard to rescue this guy and kill him ourselves."

"Aye sir."

"This way." Phlox told them immediately. They started along the dark corridor. They were not aware of whatever Travis was doing, since they were moving along the length of the ship, and then down a ladder to a lower level. All they knew was that the expected 2 G's never materialized.

"Commander?" Reed called as they passed a junction and, as he turned to look, the twin beams affixed to his helmet shone their light down the length of corridor. The others doubled back, looking at the spot indicated in his beam.

* * *

A body lay on the deck, motionless. Even as they approached, two things were apparent. First, he had been slammed with considerable force against the bulkhead and second, he was quite dead.

Under the light of the three pairs of beams which probed the body, he looked very human. The man's body was battered and broken, covered with blood that also smeared the somewhat dented wall. He looked almost classically human, but that was where the resemblance to humans ended. The blood was golden. "Ever see this species before?"

"Not at all." He began scanning it, and what he found was unexpected indeed.

"Looks like he was killed when the inertial dampeners cut out." Tucker said, not wanting to consider just how much force was needed to slam the man into the steel wall hard enough to dent it.

"This is very interesting."

"What is?"

"This blood. It not only looks golden, it is gold."

"Gold?"

"Yes. In the same way you'll find iron in human blood, this man's blood is able to carry oxygen to the cells of his body through the use of gold."

"But I thoughtâ€¦"

"Yes, but when the gold is bonded with a molecule ofâ€¦" He was interrupted by a most unnerving sound, that of the groan of tortured metal. The trio exchanged uneasy looks. They were clearly running out of time!

"We'd best be going." Phlox said. There was nothing he could do for this person, but now that he had seen a representative of the species, he had a little more to go on when they did find the survivor. He led them back to the junction and continued down the corridor.

* * *

They passed several more bodies, the crew seemingly all killed by the trauma of impacts with unyielding bulkheads. The continued for several more meters, finding body after body, all beyond their help. Finally Reed called a halt. "In here."

Tucker examined the door for a moment. "There's still a bit of current running through the circuits. Not much, but I think I can get the door open." He worked a few moments, and they were rewarded with a slight motion of the door as it slid to the rightâ€”all of four inches. "That's it. Power's finished."

Together the three of them got their hands into the open space, and with considerable effort managed to shove the door all the way into its housing.

Then they turned into the room and their EV suit lights scanned the area, they looked upon carnage. The dark chamber was filled with tables thrown about the room and broken into fragments; equipment both small and large, much of it shattered beyond any of their ability to guess its former use. All of it was crammed against the far wall. As they played the beams of their lights over the mess, each of their lights converged on a pair of legs and an arm extending from the debris.

They crossed the room, each of them looking over the mountain of fragments of furniture and equipment, trying to discern how they could remove it without bringing the entire pile down upon the body beneath it.

They made careful work of digging, removing each piece cautiously to prevent dislodging any other until finally enough was moved that they could speed their work, uncovering the body of a young woman.

She was battered, so covered in golden blood that for a moment Tucker feared they were too late, but Phlox, scanning the body, denied this even as they saw she was breathing. 

She wore a tan jumpsuit, or what was left of one, so rent and covered with blood they could barely see the original color. She had long, golden hair and delicate features despite the bruising, and they judged her to be about 5 feet tall. Phlox examined her minutely.

"She has several broken bones, but nothing seems likely to damage any internal organs, at least more than they have been already. We should be able to get her to the pod." They laid out the stretcher, unclipping the netting, and cautiously eased her onto it.

* * *

"Good thing she's light." Reed said. "I don't think she'd be very much more than 100 pounds on Enterprise." 

"She's lovely." Trip whispered, so quietly they barely heard him. Reed looked at the Commander, whose eyes and torch were locked on her face.

When does a man's heart stop beating for himself and he still live? It is in that moment when, unknown and unknowing, he finds that soul he knows beyond all reason to be the compliment of his own. Reed, looking into the man's eyes, knew his friend had found, or thought he had, just that one.

He hoped that the future would not disappoint.

"I suppose so." Phlox admitted. "But for now we must be more concerned with getting her back to the ship."

As rapidly as possible they bundled the slight body on the netted stretcher and carried her back to the pod.

* * *

Captain Archer and Ensign Sato arrived in the Sick Bay shortly after Phlox had informed the bridge that he was finished in surgery, having repaired to the best of his ability several internal injuries. The setting and knitting of bones had been a relatively minor operation. Archer had marveled often at the Denobulan's ability to perform surgery on a species he had not seen three hours before, but had since given up being astounded by his Chief Medical Officerâ€”or so he thought. Every once in a while, however, the other performed a previously unimagined feat that left Archer as stunned as ever, and it was back to square one again.

The young woman lay on the diagnostic table, still unconscious. Her clothing had been exchanged from the form fitting tan garment she had worn, which had been tattered and covered with dried golden blood, for a blue medical smock, which came down about to her knees. Archer was taken aback by her.

She looked human, so much so that, if not for the distinctly golden tint to the flesh and the more gold than blonde hair, he would have taken her for a native of Earth. In fact, he had met many California beach bunnies who perhaps strove for such golden skin and hair as this slight young woman possessed. "How is she?"

"Quite out of danger, Captain. I expect she will make a complete recovery."

"And what is she? What species?" The Doctor's affable smile faltered slightly.

"Sorry, I don't know." But then he brightened. "You'll find this interesting, however." He gently raised one of her eyelids enough for Archer and Hoshi to see. What was more interesting than the gold iris was the tiny network of blood vessels that supported her eye.

"Gold?" Archer asked. "I got the report, butâ€”."

"Oh, yes. The report was quite accurate. What we are dealing with is a species that has evolved to use gold in the way humans utilize iron."

"How?"

"The biology is not difficult, but I shall be interested in finding out just how her race evolved. On your world, iron is a plentiful material, so on hersâ€¦" But again his cheerful nature died, this time more so. "There is something else, Captain. Something you may well find disturbing."

"What is it?" Archer could not recall a time when he'd seen the Denobulan looking so grim.

* * *

Without a word, the Doctor started to unbutton the blue smock the woman wore; leaving it closed until he'd unsealed it to the hem, and then spread the material, uncovering her. Archer's breath caught in his throat, and it took most of his self-control to keep from displaying his thoughts. Beside him Hoshi gasped, covering her mouth to keep from showing her own feelings. "You can close it back up." He said in a voice as level as death. He did not speak as the Doctor resealed the garment.

"The back is just as bad, she must have been in considerable pain."

"It looks like someone took a whip to her." This, to him, was even more atrocious, more offensive, than the scores of bruises that mottled her body.

"I found evidence of severe floggings, and the marks are not all from one occasion. They run a range from recent through scars long ago healed. I would say she was whipped on numerous occasions; and there is evidence of severe beatings, simple and compound fractures and other injuries that had nothing to do with the ones she experienced on that ship."

Archer, outraged, disgusted and trying his best not to show it, caught sight of Hoshi's face as he turned away from the body. The young woman had far less experience controlling her own reactions. Trip had often expressed a desire to play poker with her, and right now her feelings were clear. "You going to be all right?"

"I'm fine, sir." But there was breathiness to her voice Archer did not like. But if she said she was 'fine', then he would be satisfied that she was 'fine'.

Under other circumstances, he might have teased her about lying to her Captain, but not this time.

* * *

He turned back to Phlox. "Can you wake her?"

"I was just about to." He reminded them. Taking a hypospray, he pressed it to the girl's neck and pressed the injector. The device hissed, introducing the stimulant directly into her bloodstream, thence to her brain. Within moments the girl gasped, her eyes flying open and she cried out, flinging her hands out, trying to stave off the devastating impact that had happened long ago. 

"Easy. You're safe." Phlox said soothingly, holding her shoulders, knowing he could not be understood but hoping his tone conveyed his meaning. Apparently it did, for though she looked about urgently, gasping from the aborted fright, she did not lose control.

"You're aboard the starship Enterprise." Archer told her in much the same tones. "We rescued you from your ship. I'm Captain Jonathan Archer."

She seemed to push her fright away, enough to focus on them and get her panicked breath under control.

"De stal?" She asked warily. "Mona tu veres?" She had a surprisingly melodious voice.

"You're in the Sick Bay." He told her, more to elicit another response.

"Mir kiris? Tu maris katanisre dobrir?" She looked about, confused and distressed.

"This is Dr. Phlox."

"Mon kir? Skowie tu vandres?" Hoshi was working rapidly with the translator. "Tamari kir naoris vas? Tamari kir Arianis?" She looked about again, growing frantic. "Tamari kir _Arianis_?"

"Arianis?" Archer asked, picking up on the verbal capital and going with a hunch. He extended his arms, indicating all around him. "Enterprise." She focused on him.

"Enterprise?" She asked in confusion.

"Please don't help, sir. I don't think Arianis means her ship." Hoshi stepped closer, still pushing buttons on the UT and pointed to herself. "Hoshi." She indicated the others in turn. "Jonathan. Phlox." She pointed to the woman, her expression clearly questioning.

"Tia." It came out 'Tee-ah', with the second syllable drawn and accented.

Hoshi went around a second time. "Hoshi Sato. Jonathan Archer."

"Tia Anlor." The name came out soft, this time the first part drawn. 'Ahn-lor'. "Mosti katis makari?" She asked, but when she didn't get an answer she asked more urgently. "Mosti katis to me?" She looked at each of them in mounting desperation. " _What happened to me_?" Hoshi  & Archer exchanged glances.

* * *

"Do you understand me?" She stared at him, vastly surprised.

"Yes. I understand you." She looked to each of them in wonder. To her they were speaking now in perfect, though oddly accented, fluency in her own language, but their lips were not moving properly! "How?" 

Archer indicated the device in Hoshi's hand. "It's called a Universal Translator. It's linked with our ship's computer, and will allow us to understand each other anywhere on the ship." He didn't mention that it took a particular degree of attention not to look at the other's lips. For even through they understood one another they were still speaking different languages, and the effect was something akin to watching a poorly dubbed video.

"What happened to my ship?"

"We found it drifting in space. It looked to have been attacked. Do you know by whom?"

It was just too strange. They were speaking her language, but their lips were moving wrong! "Yes. The klusert ku vorklis!" Demons of Hell, the UT rendered an instant later. Archer wondered if the translator was indeed working properly, but that was the essence of what she had said. "Where are my friends?"

"I'm sorry. You were the only survivor."

She stared at him, shock giving way to devastation. She looked around the room with mounting urgency, desperately searching for a familiar face! "NO!" She tried to get up, but the pain in her body worked with the strange man with the ridges on his face who held her down with gentle but firm limit. "NO! They can not all be dead!" She cast around again, even more desperately. "They can _not_ be _dead_!"

"I'm sorry."

Tia knew it had to be so; otherwise someone would be here! _Arianis_ would be here! She remembered the pounding of the ship, the loud roars of impacts, everything shaking and buffeted and pounding so hard she kept falling, kept getting knocked to the floor, unable to escape the laboratory. There was a titanic impact and she and Arianis had been slammed bodily into the wall. She fell to the floor, but Arianis managed to keep her feet, her body braced to the wall by the force of the ship's starting to spin wildly!

Then there was a worse impact that joined a deafening blast that shook the ship like a giant rattling a toy! She remembered Arianis' shriek as everything in the room flew at them; tables, chairs, benches all released from their places in one horrifying rain of metal and wood and glass, flying at them! She'd fallen to the floor, but Arianis had not been able to duck from where she stood pinned to the wall as the room hit her! In that one horrible moment Tia would hear for all of her life her shriek was _silenced_ , and then the room fell onto Tia!

Tia tried very hard to keep her control, but in the end could not. Staring into their sad faces, those so strange pink, _alien_ faces, she could not deny what they told her. 

She turned away, rolling onto her side on the bed, and a lifetime of enforced command and control could not restrain her grief.

She wept.


	2. Survivor

As Travis Mayweather piloted the shuttle pod toward the alien ship, he reflected on the Captain's question. 'Do you think you'll be able to dock?' 'Yes, sir. No problem at all.' Of course, he was not going to point out that the docking port he'd located was in perhaps the worst possible location, more than halfway forward of center and on top, so that he would have the ship approaching the upper hull at all times, as well as spinning around its own axis. He would have to approach the ship while backing away from it, and spin to chase it around sideways as well.

It was a common misconception among laymen that ships in space maintained the same orientation, on the same level. Space having no up or down, any ships they encountered would have any conceivable orientation, though usually this was 'upright' to whatever planet they had most recently visited. This one, conversely, seemed to have every orientation.

The experienced helmsman, encountering a ship up or down from them, upright or upside-down or any combination of the same, usually made such adjustments as a matter of course. As a result, he always approached a ship so that his mates would perceive it as being upright. It was a second-nature adjustment to orientation.

This one would be a challenge which, if he did not do it right, his friends would see the ship toppling over onto them. But he felt certain he was up to the challenge. He would not tell them that, however, because he did not know how to do it without sounding smug.

It was primarily a matter of training—a pilot did not make the grade without being able to handle the unusual—but only the really good ones could make it look easy. And having been born in space, living almost all of his life aboard one ship or another with occasional visits to planets, did not hurt at all.

Thus, in what he considered a reasonable amount of time, he had synchronized with the port and maneuvered so that the ship, which was constantly 'falling towards them', would be linked with the docking hatch in their own ceiling even as they both rolled to the left at more than twice per minute.

He considered it a matter of pride that his companions had such faith in him that they did not interrupt their own conversation until he reported that the docking was complete. "Good job, Travis." Tucker complimented in a tone that clearly said he would have been surprised at any less.

Phlox, Tucker and Reed were outfitted in EVA suits, having little trust in the integrity of such a shot-up ship. Their orders were clear: get in, find and bring out the survivor. Period.

Phlox carried a portable stretcher set with telescoping poles, which was fitted with a secure net suitable when expanded for zero gravity immobilization and transport. Tucker would deal with any portals or other obstructions, while Reed would keep his eyes and sensors open for any internal defenses which might mistake rescuers for attackers and respond with extreme prejudice.

They climbed the ladder, opening the airlock port into darkness. The spotlights on their helmets revealed cramped chambers, but little more of note. They followed Phlox, whose portable sensor led him unerringly to the source of the life signs. "Feel that?" Reed asked, referring to the spinning sensation that threatened his lunch.

"Whatever inertial dampeners they use must not be working well." Tucker confirmed.

"As we go further, the effects will be quite marked. I should think that our survivor may well be experiencing forces of almost two gravities."

"What if we had Travis level us off?"

"No way to tell."

Obviously it was 'command decision' time, just the type he hated. Does improving things help or make an unknown bad situation worse? It would help if he had some clue as to what the survivor was experiencing. But he did know that moving an injured person under extreme conditions was not good. "Tucker to Mayweather."

"Go ahead, Commander."

"Inertial dampeners seem to be shot. Can you use the pod's thrusters to steady us?"

"No problem."

"Travis, do it very, very gradually. We don't want to come aboard to rescue this guy and kill him ourselves."

"Aye sir."

"This way." Phlox told them immediately. They started along the dark corridor. They were not aware of whatever Travis was doing, since they were moving along the length of the ship, and then down a ladder to a lower level. All they knew was that the expected 2 G's never materialized.

"Commander?" Reed called as they passed a junction, and as he turned to look the twin beams on his helmet shone their light down the length of corridor. The others doubled back, looking at the spot indicated in his beam.

A body lay on the deck, motionless. Even as they approached, two things were apparent. First, he had been slammed with considerable force against the bulkhead and second, he was quite dead.

Under the light of the three pairs of beams which probed the body, he looked very human. The man's body was battered and broken, covered with blood that also smeared the somewhat dented wall. He looked almost classically human, but that was where the resemblance to humans ended. The blood was golden. "Ever see this species before?"

"Not at all."

"Looks like he was killed when the inertial dampeners cut out." Tucker said, not wanting to consider just how much force was needed to slam the man into the steel wall hard enough to dent it.

"This is very interesting."

"What is?"

"This blood. It not only looks golden, it is gold."

"Gold?"

"Yes. In the same way you'll find iron in human blood, this man's blood is able to carry oxygen to the cells of his body."

"But I thought."

"Yes, but when the gold is bonded with a molecule of." He was interrupted by a most unnerving sound, that of the groan of tortured metal. The trio exchanged uneasy looks. They were clearly running out of time!

"We'd best be going." Phlox said. There was nothing he could do for this person, but now that he had seen a representative of the species, he had a little more to go on when they did find the survivor. He led them back to the junction and continued down the corridor.

They passed several more bodies, the crew seemingly all killed by blunt force trauma, the impacts with unyielding bulkheads. Finally they reached a chamber, and Phlox indicated that Tucker's skills would serve them best at that moment.

When the door was opened, they looked upon carnage. The dark chamber was filled with tables, equipment both small and large, much of it shattered beyond any of their ability to guess its former use. All of it was crammed against the far wall. As they played the beams of their lights over the mess, each of their lights converged on a pair of legs and an arm extending from the debris.

They made careful work of digging into the mountain of fragments of furniture and equipment, uncovering the body of a young woman. She was battered, covered in golden blood, but breathing. She wore a tan jumpsuit, or what was left of one. She had long, golden hair and delicate features despite the bruising, and they judged her to be about 5 feet tall. Phlox examined her minutely.

"She has several broken bones, but nothing seems likely to damage any internal organs, at least more than they have been already. We should be able to get her to the pod." They laid out the stretcher, unclipping the netting, and cautiously eased her onto it.

"Good thing she's light. I don't think she'd be very much more than 100 pounds on Enterprise." Reed said.

"She's lovely." Trip whispered, so quietly they barely heard him. Reed looked at the Commander, whose eyes and torch were locked on her face.

When does a man's heart stop beating for himself and he still live? It is in that moment when, unknown and unknowing, he finds that soul he knows beyond all reason to be the compliment of his own. Reed, looking into the man's eyes, knew his friend had found, or thought he had, just that one.

He hoped that the future would not disappoint.

"I suppose so." Phlox admitted. "But for now we must be more concerned with getting her back to the ship."

As rapidly as possible they bundled the slight body on the netted stretcher and carried her back to the pod.

* * *

Captain Archer and Ensign Sato arrived in the Infirmary shortly after Phlox had informed the bridge that he was finished in surgery, having repaired to the best of his ability several internal injuries. The setting and knitting of bones had been a relatively minor operation. Archer had marveled often at the Denobulan's ability to perform surgery on a species he had not seen three hours before, but had since given up being astounded by his Chief Medical Officer—or so he thought. Every once in a while, however, the other performed a previously unimagined feat that left Archer as stunned as ever, and it was back to square one again.

The young woman lay on the diagnostic table, either asleep or unconscious. Her clothing had been exchanged from the form fitting tan garment she had worn, which had been tattered and covered with dried golden blood, for a blue medical smock, which came down about to her knees. Archer was taken aback by her.

She looked human, so much so that if not for the distinctly golden tint to the flesh and the more gold than blonde hair he would have taken her for a native of Earth. In fact, he had met many California beach bunnies who perhaps strove for such golden skin and hair as this slight young woman possessed. "How is she?"

"Quite out of danger, Captain. I expect she will make a complete recovery."

"And what is she?" The Doctor's affable smile faltered slightly.

"Sorry, I don't know." But then he brightened. "You'll find this interesting, however." He gently raised one of her eyelids enough for Archer and Hoshi to see. What was more interesting than the gold irises was the tiny network of blood vessels that supported her eyes.

"Gold?" Archer asked. "I got the report, but -."

"Oh, yes. The report was quite accurate. What we are dealing with is a species that has evolved to use gold in the way humans utilize iron."

"How?"

"The biology is not difficult, but I shall be interested in finding out just how her race evolved. On your world, iron is a plentiful material, so on hers." But again his cheerful nature died, this time more so. "There is something else, Captain. Something you may well find disturbing."

"What is it?" Archer could not recall a time when he'd seen the Denobulan looking so grim. Without a word, the Doctor started to unbutton the blue smock the woman wore; leaving it closed until he'd unsealed it to the hem, and then spread the material, uncovering her. Archer's breath caught in his throat, and it took most of his self-control to keep from displaying his thoughts. Beside him Hoshi gasped, covering her mouth to keep from showing her own feelings. "You can close it back up." He said in a voice as level as death. He did not speak as the Doctor resealed the garment.

"The back is just as bad, she must have been in considerable pain."

"It looks like someone took a whip to her."

"I found evidence of severe beatings, and the marks are not all from one occasion. They run a range from recent through long ago healed, but I would say she was whipped on numerous occasions, and there is evidence of beatings, compound fractures and other injuries that had nothing to do with the ones she experienced on that ship."

Archer, outraged, disgusted and trying his best not to show it, caught sight of Hoshi's face as he turned away from the body. The young woman had far less experience controlling her own reactions. Trip had often expressed a desire to play poker with her, but right now her feelings were clear. "You going to be all right?"

"I'm fine, sir."

Under other circumstances, he might have teased her about lying to her Captain, but not this time. He turned back to Phlox. "Can you wake her?"

"I was just about to." He reminded them. Taking a hypospray, he pressed it to the girl's neck and pressed the injector. The device hissed, introducing the stimulant directly into her bloodstream, thence to her brain. Within moments the girl gasped, her eyes flying open and she flung her hands out, trying to stave off the devastating impact that had happened long ago. "Easy. You're safe." Phlox said soothingly, pressing her shoulders, knowing he could not be understood but hoping his tone conveyed his meaning. Apparently it did, for though she looked about urgently, gasping from the aborted fright, she did not lose control.

"You're aboard the starship Enterprise." Archer told her in much the same tones. "We rescued you from your ship. I'm Captain Jonathan Archer."

"De stal?" She asked warily. "Mona tu veres?" She had a surprisingly melodious voice.

"You're in the Infirmary." He told her, more to elicit another response.

"Mir kiris. Tu maris katanisre dobrir?"

"This is Dr. Phlox."

"Mon kir? Skowie tu vandres?" Hoshi was working rapidly with the translator. "Tamari kir naoris vas? Tamari kir Arianis?!"

"Arianis?" Archer asked, picking up on the verbal capital and going with a hunch. He extended his arms, indicating all around him. "Enterprise."

"Enterprise?" She asked in confusion.

"Please don't help, sir. I don't think Arianis means her ship." Hoshi pointed to herself. "Hoshi." She indicated the others in turn. "Archer. Phlox." She pointed to the woman, her expression clearly questioning.

"Tia."

She went around a second time. "Hoshi Sato. Jonathan Archer."

"Tia Anlor." The name came out soft, Ahn-lor. "Mosti katis makari? Mosti katis to me? What happened to me?" Hoshi & Archer exchanged glances.

"Do you understand me?" She stared at him in surprise.

"Yes. I understand you." She looked to each of them in wonder. "How?" He indicated the device in Hoshi's hand.

"It's called a Universal Translator. It's linked with our ship's computer, and will allow us to understand each other anywhere on the ship." He didn't mention that it took a particular degree of attention not to look at the other's lips. For even through they understood one another they were still speaking different languages, and the effect was something akin to watching a poorly dubbed video.

"What happened to my ship?"

"We found it drifting in space. It looked to have been attacked. Do you know by whom?"

"Yes. The klusert ku vorklis!" Demons of Hell, the UT rendered an instant later. Archer wondered if the translator was indeed working properly, but that was the essence of what she had said. "What about my friends?"

"I'm sorry. You were the only survivor."

She stared at him, shock giving way to devastation. "NO! NO! They can not all be dead! They can not!"

"I'm sorry."

Tia tried very hard to keep her control, but in the end could not. Staring into their sad faces, she could not deny what they told her. She turned away, rolling over on the bed, and wept.


	3. Touched

Commander Charles Tucker III, 'Trip' to his friends, was deep in trouble, though he would never admit it to anyone. He had to admit it to himself, however, when he had to align a plasma manifold for the third time in a row and still did it wrong.

And it was all because, though he was staring inches away from the manifold in question, what he saw before his eyes was the stunningly beautiful face of a young, golden blonde woman he had never met, never spoken to, did not know, and even didn't know if she would live. He had seen her for the first time a little over three hours ago, and simply could not stop seeing her face! Was she alive? Had she died despite Phlox's best efforts? He only knew that he had to find outâ€”and before he traveled further out of his mind than he had already journeyed!

Calling an assistant, who would be able to do the job blindfolded, he turned the repair work over to the other man and left, explaining he was needed in the Sick Bay. As he walked the corridors toward the Sick Bay, he tried to think of how many variations of 'stupid' he could call himself for entertaining the mad hope he did. But if he was so sure he was insane, why was his heart leading about a meter in front of him?

He did not know what to expect to see when he arrived. Certainly seeing Captain Archer, Hoshi and Phlox surrounding a diagnostic table where the object of his search lay on her side, sobbing, was not highest on his list.

* * *

Seeing Trip enter, Archer stepped over, leaving Hoshi with the woman, certain she was better at helping in this than he was. "How was the ship?" Archer asked. He frowned, seeing that Tucker was looking past him, not paying attention. He waited a moment, and then tried again. "Trip, about our engines, I think we should switch from warp plasma to diesel."

"I think you're right, sir."

Barely able to repress a smile, Archer stepped directly in front of the Engineer. "Enterprise to Tucker." Trip started, his concentration brokenâ€”or perhaps recovered.

"Sorry, sir. Yes. The ship. I have a team over there; they report that it's in pretty bad shape. Drive is out, life support lasted just long enough for us to get out, and most of the internal systems are scrap. Someone tried damn hard to blow them out of space." Archer could sense that, though Trip was looking at him, he was actually seeing past his head.

"I get the impression that that ship is not what was blown out of space." He turned to where the young woman was calming somewhat with Hoshi's assistance. The two were holding hands, conversing softly. "She is beautiful, isn't she?"

"Yes she is."

"Come on." He turned, leading the man toward the table. He pretended he did not hear his friend trying to swallow a lump the size of an Acturan melon.

* * *

Stepping beside Hoshi, he waited until he had Tia's attention. "Are you all right?" He asked the woman.

"Anstâ€”" she began before the UT picked up her words, translating them out of synch with her lips. "I am sorry, Captain." Tia answered, her English words coming a fraction of a second behind her own; the UT actually dimming the sound in favor of its own translations. "It was such a shock. I can not believe that after all we have been through it would end like this."

"You said you knew your attacker. You called them the demons of Hell. But who were they?"

"They...They..." It was clear her control was ephemeral at best. Archer decided not to push it.

"Never mind. We can go into it later. But if you're up to it, there's someone I'd like you to meet." He indicated the somewhat apprehensive officer beside him. "Tia Anlor, this is Commander Charles Tucker. He was part of the team that rescued you."

* * *

When she turned her golden eyes to him, Trip felt his temperature go up about 15 degrees. Worried that he would stammer, or say something stupid, he charged ahead. "It's good to see you awake...Tia. May I call you Tia?" 

"Yes." She smiled, and the temperature went up another 5. "You're the one who rescued me?"

"Well, one of them." Trip answered; his voice a bit husky. Of course, only his friends would pick that upâ€”he hoped.

Tia's smile broadened, and Archer regarded her with interest. Where had he seen that look in someone's eyes before? Oh yes, just a few moments ago; in his friend's. "Your name is Shar-les? That is a nice name." 

"Thanks. I think Tia is a nice one as well."

"His friends call him 'Trip'." Hoshi offered.

"Treep?" She made a slightly sour face. "Well, I would not want to be not your friend..." She began, clearly trying to be both honest and diplomatic, never an easy task. "...but I do not think I like 'Treep' as much as 'Shar-les'."

"I agree with you." He smiled.

Hoshi, on Archer's other side, whispered so low that only he could hear. "Why do I feel that there are now only two people in this room?" Archer rubbed his lips, trying to disguise his smile.

"Commander, why don't you stay and get our guest acquainted with Enterprise? I'm needed back on the Bridge."

"Yes, sir."

"Captain? Thank you for everything."

"Don't mention it." She looked at him in confusion.

"No? Well, if you do insist, but..." Archer held up his hand.

"Wait. Commander, if you'd be so good as to explain?"

"Yes, sir."

Hoshi followed him into the corridor. Archer looked at her curiously, surprised at her having followed him. "Something tells me that, even with or without the UT, they are not going to need a translator."

"No. I think they've got the language thing pretty much covered."

* * *

When Archer reached the Bridge the derelict ship was still displayed on the viewscreen. It was now drifting in a stable attitude, thanks to the steadying effect of the shuttlepod's thrusters during the rescue mission. There was a damage control crew aboard, and he had been assured that there was little likelihood of the ship tearing itself apart, but now that it was steady the damage to it could be seen more clearly. "Reports?"

"The environmental controls did not last long after the rescue team evacuated." T'Pol said. "Artificial gravity is off line, as is air circulation. 12% of the ship is depressurized due to hull ruptures. An analysis of the hull reveals an unknown signature, most likely from a coherent energy discharge. Temperature is dropping throughout the ship and I have ordered the damage control team to return."

"The ship had minimal weapons." Armory Officer Reed told him. "Low yield missiles, a single coherent energy weapon. It was likely vastly overmatched."

"We've managed to link a comm channel to their database, downloading logs and sensor readings." Hoshi reported, reading from the progress summary of actions taken while she was in the Sick Bay. "The UT has just about all it needs to assure reliable translations."

"Any ideas of who they were and why they were attacked?" She pressed a few buttons.

"Their race name is not recorded, but they are referred to by others in some of the records as the Aurans. The database and all other information does not match her language. There are only a few log entries in her language. I get the sense that this ship did not belong to the crew."

"That's my impression too."

"There are plenty of indications that this ship was commandeered, and that the crew was running from someone." Archer looked out at the derelict ship drifting off their bow, filled with corpses.

"They didn't make it."

* * *

When Tia, with Trip's assistance, came off the biobed to face them, he could see now that she stood, on bare feet, at about 5'2", her head barely clearing his chin. Her long straight golden hair; not blonde but gold; hung midway down her back, and her eyes, as she looked up to his, seemed to sparkle with more than gold.

She looked amazingly human. It was not as if she were a human 'dipped in gold'. The hues occurred naturally on her body in much the same way a human's would be varying shades of pink, colored by the suffusion of red blood.

He was well aware that appearances could well be deceiving. T'Pol looked human, but he knew there were plenty of internal differences between Humans and Vulcans. He could not discount the certainty that the same situations applied here as well. But for now, the exterior looked very human indeed.

In fact, to Trip she looked more than human. She looked _stunning_!

"Are you hungry? Would you like some lunch?" Trip asked, and then stopped himself. "What am I saying? I don't even know if our food is good for you?"

"Oh, I can dresna." The UT said 'learn' a fraction later. "A simple bio analysis will tell me if your food is compatible."

"Indeed." Phlox agreed, more impressed by the off-hand manner in which she proposed to conduct the test. "You are a scientist?"

"Glistni." An instant later the UT supplied 'Biologist' in her voice.

"Well, I can provide you with a biochemical analysis of most of the foods we normally use; enough to get a good idea how you will react to it." He led her over to a computer terminal, calling up the necessary data. She stared at the screen in mild discomfort.

"I cannot read this."

"No. The Universal Translator is fine for spoken language, but woefully inadequate when called upon for text. I suspect you would find its attempt at spelling your language to be quite amusing."

She smiled, but there was a heavy twinge of sadness in it. "I believe you" She sighed. "I cannot tell from this if you have what I will need."

"I will compile my data into something that will give me a clear idea of your medical needs by the time you return. In the meantime, I suggest you stick to the basics."

"What are the 'basics'?" Trip wanted to know.

"Bread and water." Phlox replied with a broad smile. "Seriously, however, for what I can tell this soon, I do not think there will be anything in our menu particularly dangerous to you. Of course, everything we have is based upon an iron-based blood system and metabolism, but I can create a supplement based on gold, much as I would prescribe an iron supplement under similar circumstances."

"Thank you, Doctor. 'Bread and water." She considered; then turned with a smile toward Trip. "Yes, Shar-les, I would love some 'lunch'."

"Well, if you'd like to dress, we'll go to the Mess Hall."

Phlox walked over to the replicator. "We've reconstituted your uniform." He told her, handing her the small bundle of her tan uniform and assorted underwear, which she put on the table beside her.

"Thank you very much, Doctor." She reached down, grabbing the hem of her blue medical smock and pulling it quickly up over her head.

* * *

"Whoa!!!" Trip exclaimed, stunned as she nonchalantly dropped the garment next to the other clothes. He stared at her, too stunned to look away.

"Is anything wrong?" The nude girl asked innocently.

" _Awah...Iyee....Awhooo_!" His eyes were wide, and though his mouth worked this was the best he could do in answering her. Her skin was various mild shades of gold the way a human's would be flesh colored or pink. He particularly noticed her breasts, which were full, so firm as not to need any support, tipped with golden nipples. He looked down, past her stomach to her hips, where at her hairless mons venires he could just discern the tip of her vagina.

But as he stared, he started seeing more than just her stunning golden body. He saw the burnished gold of bruises covering her body, and the sharper stripes of many whip marks, the inflamed gold welts in various stages of healing.

"What _happened_ to you?" He blurted before he could stop himself. She looked down, unable to meet his eyes.

"The ones who attacked us. We were trying to escape. They did this because I would not give them what they wanted."

"What did they want?" He tried to restrain himself, surprised by the flare of anger that exploded in him as he looked with outrage at the injuries to her otherwise stunningly lovely body.

"My...bodily fluids."

"Your what?" She looked away.

"Shar-les, may we discuss this later?"

* * *

"Commander." Phlox added his own cautioning tone. Tucker raised his hands placatingly.

"Yes, I'm sorry. It's just...You're quite full of surprises, did you know that?"

She smiled softly, her eyes dropping from his. "I am finding that out."

"Perhaps you'll want to dress in the other room." Phlox suggested.

"Thank you, Doctor." Taking her clothes, she crossed the room. Tucker never took his eyes off her, but wasn't sure if he was looking more at her retreating, stunningly lovely body or the burnished gold of multiple bruises and the extensive markings of whips that striped her. Just before the door closed she looked back, her eyes meeting his. He was not certain what he saw there, only that it disturbed him greatly.


	4. Getting To Know You

Left alone with Phlox in the Sick Bay, Trip was quite at a loss. He was all too well aware that he had made a very poor showing indeed, but he was relieved that the Doctor seemed in no way interested in calling that to his attention. Indeed, in the few months that they had known one another, he had heard the Physician counsel both himself and others several times on the need to get used to diversity. 'It's a big galaxy out there, and you must get used to seeing many strange things in it.' He would say. But little had prepared Trip for the nonchalance of Tia's disrobing, nor of what he had found under her garments.

He was about to open his mouth to inquire of the doctor, but it was the hiss of the sliding door that seemed to emerge instead, having the fortunate effect of properly shushing him.

Then again, the sight of the now fully clothed young woman entering the room was itself enough to reduce him to speechlessness. She was absolutely stunning. Her reconstituted clothing fit her snugly; 'spray-painted' was the term that came to mind. But regardless of what she wore, or earlier did not wear, it was the woman herself that so totally captivated Trip. "It is that I am ready, Shar-les." She told him softly, in a voice that seemed to stroke his ears. 

He had to forcefully shake himself back to attention. "Oh, yeah, well, let's go get something to eat. You must be starved after all this."

"Yes, I am very calyryys." The UT rendered the English 'hungry' an instant later, the unpredictable device sometimes adding a dimension to communication that was as much mildly amusing as it was unwelcome.

"I would like you to return here when you are done, however." Phlox directed. "I want to monitor you for a while."

"Yes, doctor."

* * *

When they were alone, walking slowly down the corridor, Trip tried to rack his brain for something to say. There were a lot of questions he wanted to ask, but they ranged from the distressing 'Why were you being shot at?' to the intrusive 'Why are you covered with bruises and welts?' It left him quite uncertain about what to say.

"Well, Tia...That's, uh, that's a nice name."

She looked up at him with a shy smile. "I think 'Shar-les' is a nice name also."

"Thanks." 'Well, enough of blithering like an idiot!' He thought. "So, tell me, what kind of planet are you from?"

She stopped and frowned in concentration, clearly trying to come up with the words. "Iâ€”I am not certain...that I can explain it to anyone who has never seen it. It is very...That is, it is rather like...No; that is not it either." She groped with her hands, trying to physically describe what she was trying to say, having no real luck either. "It is very...It is very..." She looked at him intently. " _Big_! And it has this...envelope of...atmosphere all around it. And it is really, really _round_!" 

Trip laughed heartily. "Well, I walked right into that one!"

She looked at him, monumentally confused. She looked at his feet, at the far wall several meters away, and utterly failed to comprehend. "Never mind. I guess the UT is having some problems with your language. It'll get it." Her expression of confusion only deepened as she tried to work out the structure of his last words. "Never mind."

"Your tongue is very strange." They started down the corridor again. "And I have never before seen a _pink_ one."

* * *

Fortunately (for Trip) the Mess Hall was not very far from the Sick Bay, so it was a brief few minutes before they were seated in chairs near the food dispensers. "Tia, what can you tell me about your culture?"

She thought for a moment. "A very great deal about what it was, and about what it has become. Before I was born we lived in peace, in harmony with our planet. Then the demons came, and nothing has been the same.

"Your doctor has theorized that the element that makes up most of the life on our world is as common as you call 'iron', and he says we are unique in his experience. To us, it is all very natural, as natural as 'iron' is to you. But the demons have none, and prize it greatly."

"They mine the gold?" She looked at him quizzically. "Dig it up from the ground?"

"Yes, but that was long ago. What deposits there were are long gone. But it is a basic element of life; one does not have to dig it out of the ground."

Now it was Trip's turn to be confused. Granted, the iron in the bloodstream, and the carbon in the cells was not _strictly_ the ferric or carbon that came out of the mines, but the major deposits of the elements were found in the crust of the Earth. What development of evolution...? "We never paid attention to it. We have no need to; no use for it."

"Never mind, I'll find out more from Phlox later." They took some food from the wall slots, but Trip at least was not particularly interested in it, being much more attentive on the young woman before him. The more he looked at her, listened to her, the more fascinating she became to him. He couldn't explain itâ€”even in the moments he had first seen her, when she was unconscious, she had captivated him. Now, awake and vital, there was something truly compelling about her.

* * *

He chose several different things, bringing them back to the table and setting them before her, and she tried a small sample of each in turn. Some things she appeared to like immediately, others she tasted and cautiously refrained from a sour expression, though she did not touch them again. In the mean time, he did not take his eyes off her.

It wasn't just her appearance, stunning though that was. She was slight, barely two inches over 5 feet tall, perfectly formed (something he had clear evidence of earlier!), her complexion was golden the way 'beach bunnies' on Earth could never hope for, her hair was almost literally spun gold, but there was a special quality about her, some indefinable thing that "Shar-les, why do you _stare_ at me so?"

Taken aback, Trip started guiltily. She had withdrawn slightly, apprehension clear in her eyes. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to upset you! It's rude, I know, I just wasn't thinkingâ€”or rather I guess I was thinking too much. I'm sorry."

She relaxed slightly, reaching out and touching the back of his hand as it lay on the tabletop. "It is all right. I just was not sure that there was nothing wrong. I am sorryâ€”I have grown to be untrusting."

"Well, I can certainly understand that." There was a long moment of silence, a very long one. Finally, he decided that he might as well 'bite the bullet'. It was going to come up sooner or later anyhow. "What happened to you and your friends?"

She drew her hand back and looked down, unable to meet his eyes. "My world has been conquered, my people reduced to slaves. The demons, they take what they want; and though they take much from our world they are never _satisfied_. They have taken all that they can, there has not been any more in palyis." 'Years', the UT said a moment later. "And then what they want they take from our bodies! If we refuse..." She could say no more, her voice trailing away as she looked down, unable to meet his eyes.

"I understand."

"They could get the same thing from animals, lower life forms," she said softly, "but the larger the -"

"Commander Ticker, Tia Anlor, report to the Bridge immediately." Hoshi Sato's voice sounded from the speaker set in the ceiling.

"On our way." Trip acknowledged.


	5. The Precious Blood

"Captain, a ship has just dropped out of warp, at bearing 201 Mark 137." T'Pol reported the ship to be behind them about 21 degrees further to port, and midway between straight up and behind them. "Configuration unknown. Distance five hundred thousand kilometers."

"Bring us about, Travis." At his command, the Enterprise turned to port and angled upward in a move designed to look casual but having the advantage of bringing the ship's strongest weaponry, particularly the newly installed phase cannons, to point in the newcomer's direction. Lt. Reed, well in mind that the last ship they had encountered had been shot to pieces, had his finger on the control that would polarize the hull plating. "Open a channel, Hoshi." At her nod, he addressed the approaching ship.

"This is Captain Jonathan Archer, commanding the Starship Enterprise, out from Earth. Our mission is peaceful." He waited a few moments and then glanced at Hoshi, who indicated that the signal had been received by the approaching ship. "Send again, and have Trip and Tia Anlor report to the Bridge." Meantime, it gave Archer a few moments to examine the ship. 

It was large, almost three times the size of Enterprise, and he did not need Reed to tell him that it was armed to the teeth. If this was the ship that had made such a wreck of the ship they'd encountered...

"I'm getting a signal." Hoshi reported.

"On screen." Archer was almost sorry he'd given the order when the scene shifted to the interior, what he judged to be the bridge. There were several dark uniformed figures visible, but the individual in the center chair was decked out with so much silver ornamentation on his black uniform that he left no doubt as to who was in charge.

* * *

The species was Snake. Granted that he had never seen it before, but the green scaly skin and nictating eyes said 'snake' more loudly than anything he had heard. It was not like the Suliban, but more reptilian. The...creature spoke, but its words were little more than hissing sibilants.

Hoshi worked rapidly at her board, and then nodded to Archer. "I'm Captain Archer." He said, trying to draw out a response. The reply was still more hissing, but this was only underscore to was passably good English. For them to get a working translation this quickly, this had to be the race whose data had already been downloaded from the ship now left astern.

"Captain Archer." The voice hissed, and damned if the tongue that protruded rapidly from the lipless mouth was not forked! "Our sensors show you have an Auran aboard. You will turn him over to us immediately."

It was a cosmic misfortune that at that moment the turbolift door opened behind him, and he glanced back to see Tia Anlor and Trip Tucker enter the bridge. The instant Tia saw the image on the screen she recoiled, backing against Trip with a look of abject terror. She pressed against him, staring at the image in a blind panic. "You will transfer the slave to our ship now!"

"NO!" She cried, almost a scream. She whirled, grasping Trip. "Please, Shar-les; don't let them _take_ me!" Archer had seen enough.

"What is your claim on her?"

"Our business." The leader hissed. "You will surrender the slave or be destroyed. You have one minute." The image switched back to the view of the formidable ship before them. Archer turned back to their guest, who was staring at the screen, wide eyed, chest heaving in utter panic.

* * *

"Reedâ€”Tactical."

"If you're planning on fighting, have your will signed. They outgun us better than twelve to one."

"Understood." He turned to their guest. "Miss Anlor, we don't have a lot of time here. Talk to me." She turned pleading eyes up to Tucker.

"It's all right. We're not going to let anyone hurt you." Archer wished he felt as confident as Trip was trying to sound.

Trying to pull herself together, she faced the Captain. "They conquered my world, but some of us would not capitulate. I and my friends fought them. We were punished, but some of us managed to escape on that ship you found me on."

"What do they want?"

"My body." Suddenly Archer understood.

* * *

"Gold. They want you for your gold." 

She nodded. "They harvest us. Gold is virtually unknown on their world, but on ours it is an essential feature of life. Gold to us is like your iron, but the Silurian have virtually none, and they prize it greatly. They took all that was on my world; then stayed to harvest us." Archer remembered how, for millennia on Earth, gold was highly prized indeed; a source of wealth, a foundation for economies, and a cause for bloodshed.

And apparently here it was literally so.

* * *

A chime on Hoshi's board sounded. He didn't need her to tell him that their time was up, and that they were being hailed. Preparing himself, he nodded to her, and turned to face the viewscreen a moment before the Silurian reappeared. "You say that she is a slave."

"She is." He hissed.

"However, she interests us as well. We would like to buy her."

"Captain." T'Pol spoke up, objection heavy in her voice.

"Later." He told her. He knew that this ploy was ill advised, that if the Vulcans or Starfleet heard about it, there would be hell to pay. But he had seen the change of expression on the alien's face; and if he read it rightâ€¦ "How much gold can you get from her?"

"We can harvest .4 grams per day from her."

"I offer 150 kilograms, straight sale."

He had never before rocked a snake back on its heels, but if the reaction that spread through that bridge was any indication he had come pretty close. It took a few seconds for the Silurian captain to find his voice. "Done."

"Stand down your weapons, and we'll send the gold over." He looked a moment later at Reed, whose nod indicated that the weapons of the other ship had been powered down.

* * *

He kept the communications open all during the exchange, which was accomplished by transporter, both for a chance to establish First Contact protocols and to watch for signs of betrayal. However, the Silurian did not seem to be interested in either one.

He believed he'd read them right. He'd offered, and provided, a staggering fortune which he was rather sure would be well divided, and the profit motives of these people did not include the potential damage to their own ship that would result in any betrayal. They took their gold and went on their way.

Archer, not yet giving himself the chance for a sigh of relief, turned toward the turbolift. Tia Anlor was staring at him apprehensively. She backed away. "Relax. We 'bought' you, but we don't 'own' you."

"I do not understand." Her tone was filled with suspicion and outright fear. To her view, she had just traded one master for another.

"You're free." She looked over her shoulder at Tucker, her eyes pleading for understanding. "Humans do not own anyone." Archer told her. She turned to Trip, her eyes pleading for an explanation.

"Shar-les! How? It would take _375,000 days_ to repay you!" She was appalled, terrified, _betrayed_!

"There's no 'repayment'." He watched her face, the disbelief and apprehension not diminished at all. "We did it to save your life, to free you, not to 'own' you. We've no interest in your gold, just in your welfare." She stared at him, wanting to believe, filled with disbelief.

"You do not want my body?"

Trip opened his mouth, and nothing came out.

* * *

"You said you don't want to be a slave, that's why you ran." Archer said, saving his friend from both having to lie and tell the truth. "What do you want to do?" She found she didn't have an answer.

She looked around the bridge at the various faces that surrounded her, searching for betrayal, for greed, for lies...even for lustâ€”everything she was well used to, and finding none. 

"Free? Aâ€”I am free?"

"Yes. You're free." Trip told her. She looked up into his eyes, not knowing what to say, what to look for, what to find. "I swear."

"You can go anywhere you want. We do not own you. You are your own woman. What do you _want_ to do?" Archer asked again. She stared at him, feeling lost.

"I do not _know_ what I can do!" She was overwhelmed, unable to think. Too much had happened too quickly! She looked around the bridge at the men and women assembled there, but found no answers at all. "I can not go home. My friends are dead." She looked back up at Tucker. "Where can I _go_?"

"Well, for now, why not stay with us? This ship could sure use a first rate Biologist." Trip looked at Archer, to whom this was the first he was hearing of it. But the Captain trusted his friend's judgment enough that, by the time Tia had turned, he had already made his decision.

"Sure. Trip, why don't you make the arrangements for Miss Anlor's stay?" 

She stared at him, unable to speak, unable to imagine what she could say!

"Gladly, Captain." Taking Tia's arm, he ushered the stunned Auran off the bridge, but at the last moment she stopped, turning back. Her eyes were still wide in inexpressible shock, looking about the bridge, barely able to take it all in and think of any words to say. She had escaped from a life of slavery; her ship was attacked; her friends and those she loved all horribly killed; she was stranded among aliens she'd never conceived of; chased and confronted by the demons of hell; _bought_ outright before she could even think of a word to say, then told she was free; then given a place with these outlandish, unimaginable people! She had absolutely no idea what to say, what to do, what toâ€¦

But these people had been kind to her; had saved her; had healed her; had freed her. Unable to think of what to say, she reverted to common courtesy for inspiration. She pressed her hands to her chest, midway between breasts and shoulders, fingers pointing upward.

"Thank you, Captain."

"You're welcome."

* * *

When they were gone, Jonathan Archer sat down in his command chair, feeling five years older and wondering how he was going to report to Admiral Forrest the results of two First Contacts and his having 'bought' a new ship's Biologist.

"Captain." He did not even look at his Science Officer.

"I know you have about a thousand objections," he said with a sigh. He put his head back, closing his eyes on the universe. "Later."


End file.
